Change On The Fly
by Molten-Ashes
Summary: A phrase used in Ice Hockey to describe substituting a player from the bench during live play. Prowl's Team has just been split up, his only way to win the new Tournament is to somehow get a mix mashed group of players to be the best team Cybertron has ever seen on the Ice. No pressure. (Rating may go up)


Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

Please R&R!

(Hi Everybody! Its been a little while hasn't it? This shiny new AU was inspired by several conversations with InMoNochrome, who helped me construct the entire plot of this, so it is mainly a Thank You/Gift fic for them. Thanks to my wonderful beta Ice Fata who actually knows what she is talking about when it comes to things Ice Skating/Hockey related which allows me to sound actually intelligent when I write about this sort of stuff XD I hope you all enjoy this little AU! Happy Reading!)

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 **~~~Kaon, Grand Ice Stadium~~~**

 **~~Kaon Gladiators Vs Tarn Troopers~~**

Sunstreaker heard more than felt the crunch as a mech twice as heavy as himself slammed into him with the force of freight train. He was taken right off of the ground by the mid section, the custom blades lifting free with a spray of ice as he was flipped and sent skidding into the energy barrier with a rough jolt, his assailant letting out a bark of amused laughter before the tell tale whiz of his skates against the slippery surface slid away.

Disorientated, he barely heard the crowds collective 'ooh' of sympathy as he shook his helm in a daze, trying to clear the static, the referee skating past with a whistle clenched furiously in his denta, giving three short shrill blasts.

Sideswipe was on him in an instant as the entire game paused at the foul that had occurred somewhere else on the ice, his grip solid as he tugged his Twin to his feet as the match reset, fingers feeling the dent the Over Armour helmet had sustained before gently bashing their forehelms together.

"Get back in the game bro!" He shouted over the din as the crowd began to chant and generally become a rowdy mess as the skaters reformed into their formations. "Lets show these Tarn Troopers what the Bash Brothers are made of!"

He growled an affirmative, shaking away the last lines of static as he slid back into place, making a mental note to at least see the medic after the final few minutes had been completed, his stick held braced against the ground, ready for the sound of the whistle to jumpstart the face off.

The crowd rippled into a tense silence, even the commentators waiting with baited breath for the sharp report of the referee.

With a single sustained whistle, the crowd exploded in a roar of excitement as the skaters launched forward, the Forwards clashing with the thunderous clacks of their sticks colliding, aiming for control of the puck.

The black and silver disk skittered away from the melee, bouncing like a pinball as it shot away towards the oncoming defencemechs. Sideswipe, extended his stick, tapping the thick circle with a flick of his wrist towards his twin as the opposing Defencemech slammed into him, sending them both sliding backwards away from the detangling horde. The newest Trooper forward, a young yellow mech named Bumblebee, intercepted the pass, darting away with the prize as Sunstreaker reached to guard the puck. Their own forward, a volatile mech named Wild Rider was in pursuit as the Troopers attempted to close ranks and set up a shot.

Sideswipe slid into a sharp turn, out foxing the harassing opposition to come alongside Sunstreaker as the crowd surged and ebbed in a noisy bubble around them.

"Ready to live up to that moniker?" Sunstreaker asked darkly, servos wringing his stick as they saw the puck shift to the Tarn Trooper's defencemech who seemed to be taking the long route to the goal where Megatron lurked, the large mech's red optics leering out of a thick grilled helmet that protected his helm.

They set up the approach, the Trooper wearily putting in more power to his strides as the crowds interest turned, an obvious and alarming tell that something was about to happen on field.

The poor opposing defencemech never saw the Twins coming. Sunstreaker slammed in from the left, the puck bouncing away with sharp cracks upon the crisscrossed ice as possession was immediately taken up by the Gladiators Forward as Sideswipe came in like a meteor.

The mech was smashed against the barrier near the stands with a muffled yelp of surprise, the crowd going wild as the screens above the rink replayed the scene with the commentators making witty remarks from their box.

The ref blew the whistle sharply as the mech the infamous 'Bash Brothers' of the Cybertron Ice Hockey League had cornered slid to the ground wheezing horribly from his vents as the Twins skated away knocking their fists together in victory as the timer slipped down to zero.

"Time!" The grandstand roared as the final scores popped up on screen, "Gladiators, Win!"

 **~~~The Next Morning~~~**

Bluestreak winced as he tripped up the stairs to his Coach's apartment, his big Over Armour bag smacking against his doorwings as he caught himself on the top step.

"Oww." He groaned, walking the last few steps gingerly, wiggling his doorwings furiously to be rid of the stinging sensation in his abused appendage.

"I thought I heard you coming." A monotone voice startled him into almost falling back down the stairs he had just jogged up. "Come in, Bluestreak."

A black and white doorwinged mech with a blazing red chevron stood holding a very official looking data-pad in the doorway to the lavish top floor penthouse, the delightful smell of baking teaching his olfactory sensor from beyond the door making his tank gurgle with want.

"Morning Coach!" He chirped, snapping off a cheeky salute as he wandered into the top floor apartment after the retreating mech, dropping his bag by its branded twin in the lobby, taking a moment to admire the stunning views the penthouse apartment had over the brightly lit city of Praxus before curiously sniffing at the air with a thinly veiled interest. "Goodies for the junior skaters?"

"They have their graded assessments today. Snapper is hoping to advance, Emerald, depending on her anxiety may advance as well." The mech commented as he was tailed by his guest into the small kitchenette area, doorwings flicking gently in welcome. "You are here remarkably early Bluestreak."

"Some workmechs woke me up. I know the neighbour wasn't pleased as he works dark shift, so I thought I would surprise you with my punctuality today!" The young Praxian grinned in delight, clearly proud of his achievement even as Prowl raised an optical ridge in amusement.

"I most certainly am impressed." the elder mech indulged fondly as he reached for the cooling tray of goodies. "I take it you are coming with me for the Junior Skating Exam? Practice isn't until mid-orn."

"Well, it always pays to have interest in the next generation of Skaters I suppose." Bluestreak mumbled sheepishly, eyeing the Goodies longingly, before he dug around in his subspace to pull out the morning tabloid-pad to show it to his Coach. "Did you hear Prowl?! Gladiators beat the Troopers last orn! They've advanced up the preliminary table!"

The elder mech let out a flush of air that could have been a silent laugh at the sheer excitement Bluestreak displayed over the brightly coloured sports news section, clips of the game zipping by in the highlight reel that the young Forward player had been watching on the journey over. "I am well aware, Mirage informed me almost as soon as the match ended to get the Praxus Enforcers in shape for the next match. That and he was being very cryptic about a meeting I am to have with him at the end of our training session."

Bluestreak squeaked as Prowl absentmindedly slapped his servo away from the cooling Goodies while walking towards the cupboard for a box. "You think Mirage is going to talk to you about getting some more funding into the CIHL?" the red highlighted mech asked innocently, wiggling his stinging fingers while Prowl stacked the Goodies into the container.

"He hasn't mentioned anything." Prowl answered with a contemplative frown, slipping the box into his subspace, but not before allowing his young protégé to have one. He paced towards the door, leaning down to grab his own Praxus Enforcers logoed Over Armour bag that was noticeably missing the bulky full shape of Bluesteak's one. "I guess we will just have to wait and see."

The trip to Praxus' main Ice Rink wasn't very far. In fact, after leaving Prowl's apartment, it only took the two mechs a few breems to drive up to its rather deserted Transforming Lot. The outside of the building had seen better days, but the start of some workmech's scaffolding in areas foretold of the renovations soon to come, privately funded by the players of Praxus' most famous Ice Hockey team as a gesture back to their Home fans.

Prowl smiled softly as they entered the lobby, sparkling clean and modern regardless of the rather tarnished shell that housed it. Smokescreen, an official CIHL Commentator that worked part time as their receptionist when he wasn't presenting some far flung game halfway across the planet, waved them over to the reception desk to check in that they were on site.

"Morning Prowl, Blue." Smokescreen chirped rather smugly, his optics a tad dimmer than usual, his doorwings twitching and fluttering into a droop every so often, broadcasting his tired state.

"I see you're back from Kaon." Prowl snorted in amusement as he signed into the safety sheet, "How is that long distance relationship of yours going?"

"Lets just say I really didn't like the idea of rolling out of the berth and catching my flight back this morning. I'm literally only ten breems in the door." the Commentator implied smugly, snickering at Bluestreak's rather disgusted expression, before rummaging under the desk beside his computer. "Some mail came in for you Prowl, three from the CIHL and one from what looks like Aunt Wraith."

Prowl's doorwings flicked in irritation at the mention of his Carrier as he took the small pile of packages from his cousin, "No doubt she wants me to attend my sister's Spark Day Celebration."

"Most likely, mine arrived a few orns ago. Blue, as my darling little brother you have the honour of being my plus one." Smokescreen grinned at the young grey mech that winced in dismay.

"Come on Smokey, really?!" Bluestreak whined as Prowl began to move off towards the private Locker Room, specially designed with the Praxus Enforcers in mind. "Can't you just take your mysterious lover bot along?!"

Leaving both of his cousins to bicker at the front desk before the Younglings began to file in for the Junior Skaters exam, Prowl broke open the mail package and drew out the flimsy data-roll from his Carrier and skimmed over its contents. His mother wasn't a mean femme, by all accounts she was one of the sweetest creatures on the planet despite her rather intimidating name and military history, it was the three other sparklings that she had spawned that Prowl had a problem with.

As he guessed, it was his mother beseeching him to at least show face at his sister's celebration that would take place twelve decacyles from today, with an invitation to the event that included a 'plus one' spot. With a sigh, he unslung his Over Armour duffel in front of his locker and slid the personal mail into a separate compartment, both commending and cursing his Carrier's foresight to send it to the Ice Rink instead of his home where he could have claimed the letter to have been lost in transit. It was like she knew that Smokescreen would see it.

Stretching a few gears, the black and white Praxian unlocked his storage locker and threw in the Over Armour bag without much ceremony, only pausing to grab the first data-pad in a neat stack on the top shelf and his specialised ice skates before slamming the door closed with loud clang.

Bluestreak wandered in just as he was making his way towards the newly smoothed ice rink, intent on burning a few laps before the adjudicators and the younglings appeared for the mid-morning assessment.

"Wait for me Prowl!" his little cousin piped up as he unlocked his own container, unzipping his heavy bag and beginning to shove slabs of robust, lightweight Over Armour fragments into the scattered innards of the storage space, before also grabbing his blades.

Prowl made a noise of acknowledgement at the hip high door to the Locker Room, bending down to fit the expensive custom made figure skating blades to his pedes. They weren't his Ice Hockey skates, which were at the bottom of his locker, along with old Over Armour which he rarely, if ever wore these vorns. Those skates were thicker set and had much more clasps that covered and protected his ankle joints from tough blows or falls. The ones he wore today however, were a present from his Carrier upon his promotion to Coach of the Praxus Enforcers some vorns ago, which he now used daily to teach younglings and keep his team in line.

Bluestreak bounded up behind him, his gait slightly awkward thanks to his hockey blades thickening the armour over his pedes and forcing him to walk on the strips of sharp Cybertanium.

They raced for a few laps, before Prowl started to weave gently as Bluestreak charged off, feinting left and right against imaginary Defence and other Forwards clearly more focused on tuning his skills than racing his elder cousin.

The judges came in about ten breems before the younglings were due to arrive, settling themselves at the table specially laid out for them at one of the barrier's edges so that they had a good view of the whole rink. Bluestreak skimmed over to the stand entrance to the ice, clicking off his ice blades and subspacing them as he greeted the star struck adjudicators, while Prowl skated off towards the public Locker Room where the first few hopeful younglings were humming through their routines after spotting a few Creators begin to scatter over the bleachers.

They gathered around him like ducklings, all nervous bundles of energy.

"Hello little ones." he smiled softly, fondly as his class chirped back their greetings, a few of the more confident pupils' small doorwings almost buzzing with excited little flaps. He beat his own doorwings once, a sharp movement that washed a blast of air over their sensors, causing the whole group of younglings to freeze like deer in the headlights as their budding winglets processed the sudden barrage. "Now, are all of you prepared?"

The adult Praxian made a noise of approval as the group nodded their helms, some, like the timid Emerald, shyly jerking her helm up and down only once while others, like the aptly named Dare Devil bobbed his head up and down so fast Prowl was rather surprised it didn't bounce off.

"Good Luck, but I know all of you won't need it. Remember younglings, there is no shame in failing." the Enforcers Coach said gently as the first youngling was called onto the ice.

 **~~~After Practice~~~**

Prowl grumbled slightly as he spotted the last remnants of his Team still doing cool down laps around the ice as he made his way back to the reception area, where Smokescreen was sitting casually chatting up the one mech he really didn't want to see right now, no matter how urgent the meeting was.

"Mirage." he grunted, still mostly concentrating on his 'battle plan' for the upcoming matches and refining the ones that he had the Team run through in practice. "Make it quick please, I have no time for your usual politics."

The blue and white mech smiled slyly, while Smokescreen turned his attention to the computers in front of him, his list of party bookings that had been jotted down over the communication line still to be put into the calendar suddenly seeming very important. "Ah, there is my favourite Coach."

"I'm also the only Coach that actually agrees to meet with you on a regular basis," Prowl replied, finally discarding his work into subspace and turning his full attention onto the Noble that was in all but name, the President of the Cybertronian Ice Hockey League. "Why was it so urgent that I needed to see you? There hasn't been another accounts scandal again has there?"

Mirage sniffed in distain before beckoning Prowl over to the small deserted café overlooking the ice below, sliding into the cheap seat with a distinct excitement, that made the black and white Praxian's tank coil with dread.

"As we both know, Lobbing is the biggest sport on Cybertron." Mirage began when Prowl sat across from him and narrowed his optics wearily. "Ice Hockey for all its glamour and grit will never have the popularity of such a big pastime. However, I have devised a way to... steal the spotlight, so to speak."

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like this Mirage." Prowl rumbled, taking his attention away from his guest for a split second to wave as Bluestreak strode by, the hulking form of the Defencemech Rapid Run eagerly chatting away with him.

"Oh, you'll hate it, but only for a little while." Mirage nodded primly, before brandishing a data-pad at the Praxian Coach. "Guaranteed to get the whole of Cybertron interested, even with the Lobbing Finals coming up."

Prowl made a noncommittal hum in his vocaliser, turning on the pad with no small amount of scepticism.

Moments of silence passed, the slim Noble's attention fully on the black and white doorwinged mech before him.

The Coach sighed after a few breems, having read the plan in full.

"You want to splice teams together to create a brand new tournament?" he asked finally, clearly unsure of Mirage's exact intentions, the demand for an explanation in the glyphs.

"Ice Hockey, as it is with all Teams having a regional majority, are very stale in terms of drama." the director began, all bright optics and dazzling grin, "We all know the Tarn Troopers have a feud with the Iacon Primes, The Polihex Saboteurs have it out for everybody, the Kaon Gladiators have a feud with the Altihex Artisans and all of the above are gunning for the crown of the Praxus Enforcers. It has been seen a hundred times, maybe even a thousand."

"And you plan to...?" Prowl broke in, rather confused with the entire proposition.

"Create drama!" Mirage smiled broadly still excited that Prowl was listening, gesticulating broadly, spreading his arms wide. "We've seen the united fronts Teams have shown over the vorns, I want to mix and match all of the star players to create teams that will show the internal rivalry of these pro players. I want to give you, the best Coaches, a challenge to work with, moulding new teams into a cohesive unit that could win the Tournament."

"The prize?" Prowl asked, knowing full well the pro players of Cybertron would only consider the proposal if it was worth the time and effort of blending with a completely new team, even if it was only for one Tournament.

"Double pay for a Vorn." the blue and white mech smirked, reaching over and swiping away the text to summon a picture on screen. "And a shiny trophy to put in a cabinet. So..." the Noble smiled leaning back in his chair, looking for all the world like the cat who caught the canary, "What do you think?"


End file.
